


Butt Stuff

by Dira Sudis (dsudis)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Begging, Crying, Enemas, HYDRA Trash Party, Medical Torture, Multi, Sadism, hydratrashmeme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 12:27:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2652044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsudis/pseuds/Dira%20Sudis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"It's all right if you need to make noise," Mercer reminded him. "You're allowed during procedures."</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Butt Stuff

**Author's Note:**

> Written at hydratrashmeme for the following prompt: _With all the butt stuff HYDRA does to the Winter Soldier, they are fastidious about keeping him clean. Or maybe he can't eat regular food so they have to give him nutrient enemas. (Trash!anon would prefer if scat was not involved, or at least make that part happen off-screen.) Anyway I just want him whimpering and crying on a table as he struggles to keep in the fluids they fill him up with. Bonus points if they, you know, add in a semen supplement while he's still full._
> 
> Many thanks to the OP and all the trash kittens who encouraged this! 
> 
> Mercer was originally created by stoatsandwich, who has kindly shared her.

When the soldier had stopped shivering and passed the basic tests of his senses, coordination, and cognitive function, he was taken into a room with a steel examination table positioned near a drain on the floor. The technician waiting there was wearing short-sleeved scrubs and blue gloves on her hands, and he knew what was coming next even before he saw the supplies waiting. He climbed up obediently onto the table and rolled onto his left side, facing her, curled his legs up partway. 

He shivered again as he did it. 

"Westfahl." The tech in scrubs--Mercer, he knew, just like he knew what was going to happen next, with no memory of how he knew--gestured to one of the security agents escorting him. "Spot me while I check his temps."

Booted footsteps and a certain displacement of the air followed this command, and the soldier knew a burly man had come over to stand directly behind him. Mercer's first check was only the movement of her hand by his ear; in preparation for the second, he watched her swipe thick lubricant over a narrow probe. He drew his right leg up toward his chest, and Mercer flashed a quick, dazzling smile at him. 

"You remember the drill, don't you? This part isn't so bad."

That was true. This part wasn't so bad. The penetration of the probe into his anus was slightly chilly but slick and almost painless. He barely had to try to steady his breathing and heart rate while he waited for Mercer to finish checking his internal temperature.

"Warm enough," Mercer announced, pulling the probe back out of him, a slippery uncomfortable sensation that was only a hint of what was coming. "Should be nice and hospitable for your new friends."

The soldier didn't take any notice of her words--people weren't really speaking to him when they used that tone of voice, just going through the motions for their own entertainment. He only needed to listen for commands.

Behind him, Westfahl said, "New friends?"

"Tiny, very important friends," Mercer agreed, reaching into a warming container and drawing out a bag of fluid, already attached to the hose with its nozzle on the end. She hung the bag on a stand and moved around to the soldier's back, standing beside Westfahl. The soldier heard another set of slick sounds as she lubricated the nozzle.

"Cryo-storage kills most of his gut flora," Mercer explained briskly. "They're necessary for digestion, particularly for the production of certain nutrients that we don't get directly from food. If we don't want him developing nutritional deficiencies, he has to have a proper suite of gut flora. So we culture them while he's in storage and top him up once he's warm enough for them to survive."

The nozzle wasn't really that big, but he still made a high-pitched noise in his throat--a whimper--when Mercer pressed it against his anus, forcing it into him. 

"Relax, now," she said, resting her other hand on his hip as she wiggled the nozzle inside him, making sure it was correctly placed. He couldn't help clenching tight around it, trying to resist even when it was already inside him. "It hurts less when you don't fight it."

He made an even smaller noise then, drawing his right fist up against his mouth to try to silence himself. 

"It's all right if you need to make noise," Mercer reminded him, as the first warm rush of liquid poured in through the nozzle. "You're allowed during procedures."

He kept silent for several seconds. The fluid was warm, and it felt strange inside him but not painful, almost good in an unsettling way. He relaxed a little into the not-hurting of it and Mercer's hand rubbed rewardingly on his hip.

But the rush of fluid didn't stop, and the mounting pain of over-fullness sharpened suddenly into a cramp like a knife in his gut and the certainty that he was about to shit himself. He curled slightly around his belly, letting out a strangled moan, and the fluid still didn't stop, filling him impossibly. The cramps pulsed through him, freshly stabbing again and again, and he rocked a little, flexing his legs, trying to get some relief even as he held himself tightly closed around the obstruction of the nozzle, desperate not to empty himself here in this clean room in front of the pretty tech and all the watching guards.

Mercer's hand shifted down from his hip to his belly, and he sobbed out loud at the first press of her fingers. 

"Please," he gasped. That was a word he was allowed to say, he knew. _Stop_ and _no_ and _don't_ were forbidden, but he was allowed to say _please_ when he couldn't help shaping his cries into words.

Mercer moved around to his other side, leaving the nozzle in place, fluid still pouring into him. She pressed her whole hand to his belly, rubbing where the pain was the worst, and he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his cheek hard against his metal wrist to keep from shaking his head, chanting hopelessly, "Please, please, please," against the stuff pouring into him and Mercer's hand probing at it through his skin.

"His abdominal muscles have enough tone to resist distention, which creates terrible internal pressure," she said, just noises somewhere above him. Her fingers pressed harder. "Relax, now. You need to relax or it hurts much worse. Let your belly push out a bit, the fluid has to go somewhere. Look where my fingers are--" her tone sharpened into clear command at that, and he opened his eyes and looked, saw the perfect curves of her nails under the blue gloves as she pressed in against his belly. 

"These muscles, you must relax them," she insisted. "The fluid wants to make your belly pop out, you have to let it."

He concentrated, whimpering, on doing what she ordered despite the pain, and watched in sickened fascination as his belly swelled visibly under her touch. She went back to rubbing gently with her whole hand, and the pain did ease a little, the cramps leveling off. He realized that he couldn't feel any more fluid pushing into him; he was filled up.

Mercer reached into the warmer and pulled out another bag, passing it across to Westfahl, and the soldier closed his eyes again as he listened to the small sounds of it being hooked up.

The next rush was warmer and hurt even more. He couldn't hold it all in, he knew he couldn't, and Mercer was still pressing against his belly, moving her fingers in some purposeful pattern now, pushing everywhere it hurt. He wasn't making words now, just animal noises of pain, drooling against his metal wrist because he couldn't close his mouth, couldn't stop crying out.

"There, you've taken it all," Mercer said, flashing him another shining smile as he sobbed, trying to hold still for her probing hand. She moved around behind him, and he felt her fingers against the nozzle and let out a high-pitched wordless sound.

Not a word. He wasn't allowed to say _no_ or _don't_. He wasn't allowed to tell her that if she took the nozzle out he wouldn't be able to hold all that fluid in, that he would empty his guts over her hands, making a mess of her and himself and everything else.

"Tsk," she said. "Don't cry now, you can do it, just hold on."

He shut his eyes and concentrated, clamping down tight around the nozzle as her fingers twisted it out of him. He felt an ominous warm trickle, but no more, and then Mercer came over to prod at his belly again with her gloved hands.

He couldn't help squirming more now, and he knew vaguely that he was allowed, now that there was no nozzle to risk dislodging. He tried to twist onto his back, but Mercer said sharply, "No!" and he froze, still on his side.

"You can turn the other way if you like," she told him, and he took her offer, rolling belly down and dragging his curled legs under him to keep from actually pressing his swollen gut to the table. He let his head hang down as Mercer moved around him.

"Up a little more," she directed, and he pushed up on his knees until she could reach easily under him, pressing against his oddly rounded belly from below, setting off another wave of stabbing cramps. 

The soldier whined, hunching his hips in as he clenched tight, fighting the urge to release, trying to relax the muscles of his belly while he held tight everywhere else.

He heard the snap of Mercer removing her gloves, and she came around to his head. She brushed a hand over his ear, as if taking his temperature again, and then touched the back of her hand to his cheek where it was wet. He was crying, he realized, tears streaming uncontrollably from his eyes. His cheek felt fever-hot, too, flushed bright from the effort of not letting go in front of everyone. The skin of her bare hands was soft.

"There, there," she said. He didn't look, but he knew she would be smiling that pretty smile again. "Now all you have to do is wait. Twenty minutes should be sufficient for good absorption."

He sobbed again at the thought of waiting twenty minutes. He wasn't sure he would make it through the next twenty seconds. He rocked a little on his knees, but the cramps only got sharper, and he keened and tensed against the threat of letting go.

"Westfahl," Mercer said. "You stay and keep an eye on him. Call at once if he springs a leak; we'll have to start all over if he loses more than ten percent before time is up."

"Ma'am," Westfahl agreed, and the soldier watched through a fresh wash of tears as Mercer and two of the guards left. There was only Westfahl watching him now. Only Westfahl to see if he lost control.

A thick finger tapped lightly again his tightly-clenched anus, still slick from the nozzle. 

"Twenty minutes," Westfahl repeated thoughtfully. "Huh."

The soldier squeezed his eyes shut. He forgot to keep his belly relaxed and keened at the suddenly sharper pain in his gut. 

He was dimly aware of Westfahl laughing behind him, pressing against him again, and the soldier squirmed away from that touch. He was allowed to move during procedures just like he was allowed to make noise; restraining him or not was up to the people running the procedures. Mercer hadn't restrained him, only told Westfahl to watch.

Moving wasn't the same as trying to get away, though. The soldier couldn't move off the table where he'd been placed for the procedure. Westfahl didn't let him go far anyway; a second after the soldier tried to lean away, Westfahl's hand clamped down on his balls. Westfahl pressed a thumb against his anus, rocking, silently threatening. 

The soldier knew he was going to give way. Westfahl would force him to fail, and then Mercer would come back and start the whole thing over. She would think he hadn't been able to hold on when it was Westfahl who made him leak. The soldier gritted his teeth, cheeks hot, tears dripping down his cheeks again, but he didn't make a sound as Westfahl prodded at him.

Then Westfahl took both his hands off the soldier, and before he could be glad of the reprieve, the soldier heard Westfahl open his fly.

The soldier lunged to the furthest end of the table, even though the motion made the cramps stab through him again, shaking his distended belly. Westfahl gave him a stinging open-handed slap on the ass and walked around the table, and the soldier couldn't help looking. Westfahl had his cock in one hand, stroking himself harder though he was already obviously aroused. With the other hand he rummaged through Mercer's supplies, coming up with the tube of lubricant she used on the probe and nozzle. He squirted some onto his cock, smearing it around with a squelching sound that made the soldier shudder. He knew what was going to happen next.

He couldn't say _no_ and he couldn't say _don't_. But when Westfahl clambered up onto the table behind him, shoving his knees between the soldier's, the soldier couldn't help saying, "Please, please," in a barely coherent cry. He was clutching the edge of the table, staring down at the floor. He thought about giving up and expelling the fluid all over Westfahl on purpose--but Westfahl probably wouldn't be deterred by that. Failing intentionally would mean the worst of punishments, and Westfahl would be sure to report it once he'd had his way.

"Please, huh," Westfahl said, and the soldier could feel the heavy, hot jab of Westfahl's cock between the cheeks of his ass. He was spread wide open. He could not pull away any further without falling off the table, and he could not leave the table. "You want it that bad? Cryo storage was that lonely?"

The soldier squeezed his eyes shut and moaned hopelessly. 

Westfahl moved rhythmically behind him, bouncing the head of his cock against the soldier's anus. "What was that? You don't want to say please anymore? That's fine. You just say no and I'll stop. I won't do anything you tell me not to do, soldier, you just say the word."

It was possible that there was a way to say it that wouldn't be punishable, but he couldn't think of it through the pain and the anticipation of more pain and of unavoidable messy failure. 

"Speak," Westfahl said sharply. 

"Please," the soldier said reflexively, despairing, and then helplessly, "Please, please, _please_ ," his voice rising as Westfahl pressed more steadily against him.

"Ease up a little, soldier," Westfahl instructed. "Don't make me tear you, that'll make a hell of a mess."

"I'm going to leak," the soldier managed to say. That was a factual report of the likely outcome of the conduct of the mission.

"Don't you dare," Westfahl said, pressing harder against him. "Let up just a little, I'll keep you all plugged up."

That was an order. The soldier bit back the noise he wanted to make and tried to relax just enough to let Westfahl push inside. He felt fluid trickle out of him, down over his balls, but the sensation was quickly lost in the pain of Westfahl's cock forcing its way into him. He was still clenched too tight to allow Westfahl to move easily, and Westfahl groaned as he fucked all the way in against that resistance.

The soldier's guts seized up in the worst cramp yet, and he screamed, certain that something had broken open inside him from the unbearable pressure. He was vaguely aware of Westfahl saying something above him, of the pressure of Westfahl's body against his ass, but he was lost in the bright shattering pain.

And then he heard, very clearly, Mercer saying, " _Dammit_ , Westfahl," as a door slammed open. The soldier felt Westfahl freeze behind him.

The soldier turned his head to watch, blinking away tears and swallowing a sob of pain, as Mercer stomped into the room and pulled on a new pair of blue gloves.

"I came back to tell you that you should only use the stun baton on low settings to tighten him up, because the higher settings make him lose control, but you've had a _much_ worse idea." 

The soldier let his head hang down to watch as Mercer reached below them, tapping her fingers in the little puddle beneath him on the table. 

"Did you wipe any of this up?" Mercer demanded.

"I'm fucking balls deep, do I look like I've been cleaning?" Westfahl demanded. 

"I'm not putting anything past you," Mercer said, shaking her head. "This looks like less than the margin of error. The procedure is still retrievable. Westfahl, you are going to stay absolutely still for another fourteen minutes."

Mercer raised her hand to probe at the soldier's anus where it was stretched open around the base of Westfahl's cock--checking the seal, he realized, when she rubbed her fingers together. Then she ducked to look more closely.

"Westfahl," she said, sounding incredulous. "Are you barebacking him? Do you understand that we just pumped him full of live bacterial cultures? You are going to have the unholy king of all urinary tract infections after this."

Mercer flashed a sudden bright smile, and the soldier felt Westfahl's cock twitch inside him before she said, "I'll take your place on STRIKE while you're laid up. So sad for you."

"Worth it," Westfahl gasped, twitching inside him again, making the soldier whimper. "So fucking wet inside. So hot."

"Of course he's-- _don't move_ ," Mercer snapped, and Westfahl twitched a little bit again. 

"Can't help it," Westfahl said. "If I'm supposed to stay hard for fourteen minutes I gotta move."

"Twelve now, actually," Mercer said. "Though in any case thank you for being honest about the fragility of your erection. Stay inside him, exactly where you are."

And then Mercer's hand was on the soldier's belly again, pushing in just above his pubic bone as though she was trying to touch Westfahl right through him. The soldier keened helplessly, pain slicing through his guts, and behind him Westfahl groaned.

"Don't you dare come, either," Mercer said, the pressure of her fingers easing only to punch in again higher up. The soldier sobbed and arched up, trying to escape her fingers. He only succeeded in pushing himself harder against Westfahl, and Westfahl moaned and grabbed the soldier's hips with both hands.

Mercer's hand moved back to check the seal between him and Westfahl again, tracing along the straining muscle of his anus, and then she brought her hand to his belly and pressed with the heel of her hand. The soldier sobbed but managed to keep still this time. 

He made himself look away, watching liquid drip from his face to the floor as Mercer wrenched more cries from him. Westfahl's cock stayed rigid inside him, twitching every time Mercer made him hurt more. The soldier didn't hear all the things they said to each other.

He did hear every time Mercer announced the time remaining: nine minutes.

Seven minutes.

She changed tacks, grabbing one of his nipples and giving it a vicious twist, and the soldier wailed and bucked under Westfahl, but Westfahl moved with him, staying deep inside him. 

Four minutes. 

Her probing hand shifted lower again, checking the seal and then cupping his balls. The soldier whimpered out a choked, "Please," in anticipation of that pain piled on top of this, but Mercer squeezed only gently. 

"See?" Westfahl said. "He begs for it."

"Shut up, Westfahl," Mercer said absently. "You know that's not what he's begging for."

The soldier turned his face away, eyes squeezed shut. If Mercer could hear _stop_ when he said _please_ , the punishment would come for him all the same.

But Mercer's hand shifted to give an equally modulated squeeze on his dick. 

"I'm not saying it's not what he's going to get," Mercer added thoughtfully. "But we both know it's not what he's asking for, and it's childish to pretend otherwise."

"You seriously think you can make him get it up right now?"

"If you don't think I can make him do anything I want him to you don't understand what the asset is," Mercer replied, and the soldier whimpered a little and shivered, knowing it was true. Mercer's hand was gentle on him, moving relentlessly over his dick even while her other hand prodded elsewhere. She didn't order him to get hard, and he didn't, but the faint whispers of pleasure made his face flame red even more than the anticipation of losing control had. 

"Time," Mercer said, withdrawing both hands. "Go ahead and earn the cosmic justice of heavy-duty antibiotics giving you the shits, Westfahl."

"Worth it," Westfahl insisted on a groan. 

The soldier screamed again as Westfahl's grip on his hips tightened and Westfahl began fucking him in earnest, his balls slapping wetly against the soldier's with every thrust in. The pain rippled and echoed and compounded: his tight-clenched anus stretched by the motion, the cramping of his guts gone beyond any chance of easing. He stared at the wetness dripping down the insides of his thighs, not quite believing that it was only fluid and not blood. 

Westfahl slammed into him one last time with a long grunt of satisfaction, and the soldier knew that Westfahl's semen was flowing out into the fluid remaining inside him, splashing through his guts on that tide. 

It wouldn't last much longer, though. Mercer had called time. She'd only let Westfahl finish because it didn't matter anymore if the soldier leaked or failed. He'd lasted through the twenty minutes. 

"Pull out," Mercer ordered. "Slowly. Soldier, you're not to release all over Westfahl if you can possibly help it."

The soldier whimpered but nodded and held on, clenching down tight around Westfahl's cock as he pulled it out. He felt a gush of liquid escape before he was able to close himself, but nowhere near all. 

It was almost a relief to only be in pain from the fluid held inside him--and less than he'd had before, with the leakage. The cramps and the knowledge that he was going to have to let go were almost pleasurable, knowing that he would soon be allowed to.

"Back down on your side, soldier," Mercer directed. The soldier obeyed, lowering himself to his left side again, pressing his cheek against his metal arm and curling his legs toward his belly. The pain sharpened from the change in position, then eased a little. 

Mercer smiled. "You did very well. Better than I expected. I'll bet you still have a full bag or more inside you."

She pressed her gloved hand to his belly, probing firmly along his gut, making the cramps knife through him again. 

"Of course, Westfahl probably forced a lot of oxygen into you, which isn't good for your new friends. I think you'd better hang on to what's left for as long as you can."

The soldier whimpered. She'd said twenty minutes. She'd said it would be over. 

She stripped her gloves off and came up to stand at his head, wiping her fingers through the mess of tears and snot on his face. "There, there. You can cry if you like. All you have to do now is wait. For as long as I tell you to."

She smiled dazzlingly, and the soldier pressed his cheek against her hand and whispered, "Please."


End file.
